


right in the front row

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e08 The Well, F/M, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: A long day gets even longer. At least Ward's enjoying himself.[PLEASE read author's note!]





	right in the front row

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(you found) your place in the world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455268) by [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma). 



> **PLEASE READ** : So, sometimes the writing process is complex and annoying. Back in December 2015, I had this fun fic idea that, in execution, wasn't...actually that fun. I LIKED what I had written from a technical standpoint, but from an entertainment standpoint, I'd managed to take a fun idea and make it suuuuuuuper boring in the execution. So, more than 2,000 words in, I stopped and started over. The result was [(you found) your place in the world](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5455268). But those original 2,000 words haunted me because I really did love them--something super rare when it comes to my writing.
> 
> I couldn't work it as a sequel exactly because the nature of Grant and Jemma's relationship changed between this draft and the final version. I COULD rework the beginning into something else entirely, but I'm too fond of the rest to just totally discard it. And I guess technically I *could* finish it, except again: kind of boring. I didn't think adding another 1,000 words trying to find a natural ending would do it any favors.
> 
> So, falling back on a concept I've seen in other fandoms, I'm declaring WIP Amnesty. Namely: posting what I have, as-is, and with no intention to return to it. This is the original draft, all 2,356 words of it: unedited and with no actual ending. **Let me repeat: this ends mid-scene**. It's not exactly a cliffhanger, but there's no resolution. Call it unfinished world building.
> 
> Still, I hope you'll enjoy what IS here--and if you're left frustrated by the non-ending, feel free to check out [(you found) your place in the world](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5455268)!
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review.

There are days Phil thinks he might be getting too old for this job.

Since breakfast, they’ve been from London to Norway to Spain, and the mission’s nowhere near over yet. It doesn’t help that what they’re dealing with is Asgardian; the scar on his chest keeps twinging and Melinda spent the whole flight from Norway giving him looks like she was thinking about knocking him out and stuffing him in a closet…for his own protection, of course.

Needless to say, having the very professor they came to consult try to abscond with a piece of the artifact he identified for them doesn’t improve his day. But after an initial (fairly half-hearted) escape attempt, Randolph comes quietly enough, and Phil almost dares to hope that the day is looking up.

…Only to have his hopes cruelly dashed as soon as they reach the Bus, because when Phil tries to lead Randolph up the stairs, he resists.

“No, I’m sorry,” Randolph says, and turns to face Ward. “I just—I _have_ to know. What are you?”

Ward, obviously confused and just as obviously reluctant to show it in front of a prisoner, glances at Phil. Equally confused, all he can do is shrug.

“What do you mean?” he asks, since they’ll be here all day if they wait for Ward to do it.

“Well, he’s not human,” Randolph says, “that’s for sure.”

There’s a long moment of silence. The rest of the team’s been drawn out of the lab—probably curiosity at the hold up—and Phil can see Skye just _itching_ to make a joke. She’s likely only quiet because she can’t decide which one to make first.

“Yes, I am,” Ward says.

He’s scowling, a little, brows drawn together in annoyance or confusion, and Phil bites the inside of his cheek. A part of him—of which he is not proud and that he privately blames on too much time spent with Tony Stark—is always tempted to tell Ward his face will stick that way if he doesn’t watch out.

(In his defense, Ward makes that face a _lot_.)

“No, you aren’t,” Randolph argues.

“It’s the cheekbones, right?” Skye asks. Phil is surprised; he was expecting her to go for the robot jokes first. “I know they look inhumanly perfect, but trust me—”

“It’s not the cheekbones,” Randolph interrupts, then casts an evaluating glance at Ward. “Although they’re certainly evidence in favor of my argument. Agent Ward is not human.”

Simmons turns away with a poorly disguised laugh, and Ward’s frown deepens. Melinda rolls her eyes.

Fitz, on the other hand, is staring thoughtfully at Ward. Something like dread uncurls in Phil’s gut.

“Okay,” Ward says, apparently trying for patience, “what am I, then, if not human?”

“That’s precisely what I was wondering,” Randolph says, pointing at Ward with both index fingers. “I’m dying to know.”

Ward’s jaw ticks, and Phil, a little concerned that this is about to devolve into violence, decides to get them to the point.

“What makes you think Agent Ward isn’t human?” he asks.

“Well, it’s simple,” Randolph says. “No human could touch the berserker staff bare-handed without being affected.”

All eyes go to the piece of the berserker staff Randolph tried to steal. It’s on a table in the lab, safely contained within a sample bag. Or seven; Fitz might have gone a bit overboard, there.

And it _was_ Fitz who bagged it. Before that…

“I didn’t touch it bare-handed,” Ward says flatly.

“Yes, you did,” Randolph insists. “Twice, in fact! Once when you grabbed it from me in the catacombs, and—”

“—And once when he tried to escape,” Phil says heavily.

It was barely an hour ago, so Phil remembers the whole thing perfectly. Skye carried the staff, bundled in Randolph’s jacket, out of the catacombs, while Ward dragged the man himself. When Randolph tried to make a break for it, shoving past Ward and grabbing at the staff, it was knocked out of Skye’s hands.

Ward caught it—caught it by the _uncovered_ end—before it hit the ground. It happened so fast, and Phil was so distracted cuffing Randolph, he didn’t think anything of it at the time.

But now…

“Well,” Ward sighs. He looks more annoyed than worried, which isn’t comforting at all. “Fuck.”

Phil doesn’t draw his sidearm. He’s still got a grip on Randolph’s arm, and he’s not going to risk him using this distraction to try and escape again.

Besides, Melinda’s at a better angle—and sure enough, she’s planted herself between Ward and the kids and leveled her pistol on Ward before another word can be said.

“Talk,” she orders, and Phil’s reasonably confident that no one else detects the worry in her tone.

Although he might just be projecting there, because if Ward isn’t human, what _is_ he? Is he even Ward at all, or some alien imposter that’s imprisoned—or worse, killed—the real Ward?

Whatever or whoever he is, Ward doesn’t appear concerned by his position. He’s not even looking at Melinda; instead, his attention is on Simmons.

“Do you wanna explain it, or should I?” he asks her, effectively worsening the sick feeling in Phil’s stomach.

“Simmons?” he asks

She throws her hands in the air, plainly exasperated. “Oh very nice, you idiot,” she snaps at Ward. “Thanks very much.”

“Hey, if I’m going down, you’re coming with me,” Ward tells her. Not that he looks all that worried about going down—in fact, he seems pretty amused. He’s wearing a smirk Phil never could have pictured on his stoic, brooding specialist’s face.

Somehow, that strikes him as a bad sign.

“Simmons,” Fitz says, ignoring Melinda’s attempt to motion him away from her, “what—?”

“Oh, dear,” Simmons sighs, and, with one last glare at Ward, turns to Phil. “Sir, may I suggest we take this upstairs? There is still a prisoner to consider.”

“Oh, come on,” Randolph complains. “I want to hear this.”

Phil hesitates, torn—moving upstairs puts them closer to the cockpit, and if Simmons and Ward (or whoever they are) have any thoughts of escape…

Of course, it’s not like there aren’t plenty avenues of escape right here in the cargo bay (like, say, the two cars sitting on the lowered cargo ramp), so why not? Besides, Simmons and Ward haven’t taken any violent action against them, and Phil would prefer to keep this friendly for as long as possible.

Unless these two are actually imposters who have kidnapped and replaced two members of his team, in which case he will _personally_ see to it that they regret ever setting foot on his plane.

“All right,” he says, and nods to Ward. “Lead the way.”

“Thank god,” Ward mutters, starting up the stairs. “I need a drink.”

Once Phil sees Randolph locked in the Cage (over his vociferous protests), the six of them settle in the lounge for some explanations. Skye and Fitz take the couch—at Phil’s insistence; Fitz isn’t pleased to be kept apart from Simmons—while Phil and Melinda take the armchairs on either side of it. Simmons and Ward (again, at Phil’s insistence; at least for the moment, they’re still taking his orders) take the armchairs on the far right and far left, respectively, leaving Simmons next to Phil and Ward next to Melinda.

Ward, before taking a seat, snags a bottle of vodka from the bar. Under their astonished eyes, he proceeds to swig from it like it’s water.

“So,” he says, ignoring Skye’s muttered comment about alien alcoholics, “where to begin? Any ideas, sweetheart?”

Simmons rolls her eyes at him, then turns to the rest of them with an apologetic smile. “First, I suppose I should assuage any fears—we’re not imposters. We’re the same people who’ve been here from the beginning.”

“Yeah? And how do we know you’re telling the truth?” Fitz demands.

“Fitz, really,” Simmons says with a slightly exasperated smile. “We’ve been best friends since we were _fifteen_. Don’t you think you’d _know_?”

“Maybe,” Fitz mutters. “But in twelve years I never realized you weren’t _human_ , so…”

It’s a fair point, which Simmons obviously realizes, judging from her grimace.

“That’s a bit complicated, actually,” she says, “but—”

“Okay,” Skye cuts in, and shrugs innocently when Phil raises his eyebrows at her. “Look, let’s just—assume, for a second, that you’re telling the truth and you’re really you. What _are_ you?”

“And why are you pretending to be human?” Phil asks.

“As I was saying,” Simmons says, “it’s a bit complicated. We are—or were…” She frowns. “Will be? Have been?”

“What Persephone is so poorly trying to express,” Ward inserts, “is that we’re gods.”

Did he just say—?

“Persephone?” Skye squeaks, as the rest of them stare. “You mean, like, _Persephone_?”

“Queen of the Underworld,” Simmons says, glaring at Ward. “Yes. And thanks ever so for dropping _that_ into the conversation, darling.”

“My pleasure,” Ward says smugly, taking another swig of the vodka.

There’s no reason to believe them—to simply take their word for it—but somehow, Phil _knows_ it’s the truth. Something, whether primal instinct or gut feeling, tells him that the young woman next to him—a woman who just last week was stuttering her way through an awkward justification for shooting a superior officer—is a Greek goddess.

Melinda gives him a questioning glance, and he nods. Maybe it’s just his previous history with deities, but…yeah. Phil believes it.

And here’s hoping this conversation goes better than his _last_ encounter with a god.

“Wait.” If the horror on Fitz’s face is any indication, he’s jumped ahead of the rest of them. “Persephone as in _Hades’ wife_?”

“To my eternal regret,” Simmons sighs, “yes.”

“Oh!” Skye exclaims, catching on, and looks between Simmons and Ward. “And you called him—and he called you—”

The penny drops for Phil even as Ward smiles slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Hades. Hi.”

“The Greek gods are real,” Skye says, sitting heavily back against the couch. “Wow.”

Fitz is still looking faintly horrified, which probably has something to do with his poorly-hidden crush on Simmons. Phil feels a twinge of pity.

On the other hand, Ward—Phil really can’t think of him as Hades; that’s gonna take a minute to sink in—looks to be having the time of his life.

“Yep.” He props his boots on the coffee table. “The whole pantheon, from the thunderbolt-hurling moron on down. All real.”

“Hey,” Simmons says, sharply, and tosses a throw pillow at Ward’s head. He catches it easily. “That’s my _father_ you’re talking about.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, with blatant insincerity.

“You should show more respect,” she scolds. “Considering how many weeks you’ve spent not just traversing, but _living_ in his domain, you’re very fortunate he hasn’t struck you down.”

Ward scoffs. “I’d like to see the old bastard try.”

Simmons’ eyes narrow dangerously, but luckily, the team is spared her reaction when Skye—and of course it’s Skye—addresses the elephant on the plane.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, “about that. Aren’t you two…related? Like, really really closely?”

“No,” Ward says, firmly, as Simmons makes a face. “There is no incest in our family tree.” He pauses. “Well…”

“No,” Simmons repeats, rolling her eyes at him. “Hades is not related to _either_ of my parents. Nor did I ever have any children with my father.” She shudders delicately. “Our worshippers were dears, but they had some very…odd ways of filling in the blanks, so to speak.”

“Blanks?” Fitz asks.

“We—the original gods—wiped our parents out of creation,” Ward explains. “We didn’t just kill them, we _erased_ them. It was supposed to be like they’d never existed: no trace of their bodies or souls, no record of their history.”

“A touch drastic, I’ve always thought,” Simmons murmurs in aside to Phil.

No kidding.

Ward ignores her. “Only Zeus, as usual, fucked it up. His erasure wasn’t complete, the Greeks remembered his parents, and—in the absence of records of any others—assumed that his parents were _our_ parents, too.”

Something about Ward’s tone, how casually he talks about erasing his parents, leaves Phil cold. And he must not be the only one, because once Ward finishes, there’s a long moment of silence.

It’s broken, surprisingly enough, by Melinda. “And the kidnapping?”

“I don’t know whether it’s flattering or weird that all of you are read up on your Greek mythology,” Ward says thoughtfully.

“Unfortunately true,” Simmons says, ignoring him. “Although the bit about tricking me into eating the pomegranate seeds was nonsense. By the time my parents came to rescue me, I’d fallen in love, so I ate those of my own free will in order to avoid being dragged back to Olympus and grounded.”

“Stockholm Syndrome?” Fitz asks, a little snarkily, and Simmons laughs.

“One does wonder, in this day and age,” she agrees.

“That hurts, sweetheart,” Ward pouts. It’s an unsettling expression, compared to what Phil’s used to from him, and he can tell the rest of the team is equally discomfited.

Except for Simmons, who only rolls her eyes.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” she says. “Kidnapping me entirely loses you—”

“—loses me the moral high ground,” Ward says over her. “Yeah, yeah. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to let that go.”

“I’m sorry,” she says sweetly, “I can’t hear you over the sound of your _screaming psychological issues_.”

“Rude,” he chides.

“Kidnapper,” she singsongs. “You could’ve at least _tried_ wooing me first. Flowers are a classic choice.”

Ward scoffs and turns to Melinda, expression expectant. “Tell me this: you’re interested in a woman who has the power to _make flowers grow_. Is a bouquet your first choice of gift?”

Melinda gives him a searingly blank look. “It’s higher on the list than a kidnapping.”

“Oh, who asked you,” Ward sighs, taking another swig of the vodka. “Anyway, my point is—”

“Did you have a point?” Simmons wonders.

“I think he was trying to defend himself over kidnapping you,” Skye says. “He’s not doing a great job, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all she wrote! I hope y'all enjoyed, even if it was.....abrupt.


End file.
